


Love and Regrets

by SilverRaven33



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dead/Missing Castiel, Heartbroken Dean Winchester, Loss, M/M, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Regrets, post s7e1, season 7 era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRaven33/pseuds/SilverRaven33
Summary: A part of Dean had died that day when he watched Castiel wade into that river. Now he's only left with regrets, and pain, and a memento that he holds onto for dear life.No happy ending unfortunately, just how Dean's feeling after Cas is gone. A one shot for now, but you never know what the future holds.Only using that major character death tag cause for all we know at this point, Cas is dead.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Love and Regrets

“Sometimes I think you care about him more than me!” Sam was indignant, naturally. Dean narrowed his eyes at his little brother where he sat across from him in the cabin's main room.

“Oh please,” he scoffed. Sam’s expression just began turning from disbelief to relief when Dean followed up with, “You act like I care about anybody.” The taller man rolled his eyes at this. Of course Sam knew better. It was Dean’s weakness, that he cared too much. About everybody. At least everybody that he thought he could help. And damn it, he should have been able to help Cas. It didn’t matter how many times Sam and Bobby had told him they’d all done everything they possibly could have. There should have been more. Cas had saved him so many times, and Dean hadn’t been able to save him.

A part of Dean had died that day when he watched Castiel wade into that river, or more accurately, watched the leviathans force their host into the middle of the river. It didn’t matter. In that moment, in that lost and miserable moment, it didn’t matter what Cas had done, that he had allowed unheard of power to go to his head, that he had taken the mantle of God and even threatened Dean, and Sam, and pretty much everything Dean loved. It was still Cas, being driven out into that water, still Cas that had come back to them, if only briefly, and wanted to redeem himself. 

Sure, Dean was still pissed beyond reasoning at him, and he didn’t know if forgiveness was really something he’d ever be able to find. It haunted him, every day, every night: was that what stopped him from stopping Cas from wading out there? His anger? Even though he knew, in his logical brain, that had he tried, the leviathans would have turned on him, probably dragged him under too. But how could he live with himself and the knowledge that he hadn’t at least tried? Not well was the clear answer. 

Dean had always enjoyed a good drink or few, but now he didn’t care what was in front of him, the cheapest liquor would do. It wouldn’t even get him drunk, but it was a form of self abuse that he could accept and still mostly function on. He still had to be there for Sammy, after all. His brother and Bobby had both been yelling at him lately that his head wasn’t in the game, and how well Dean knew it. He’d long ago stopped thinking in if only’s, but this time it was hard not to be haunted. 

At the best of times, he’d be able to raise that righteous anger, and force himself through the memories enough to get the current job done. At the worst of times, he’d think he couldn’t go on at all. And though he was gone, Cas was always there with him, in his mind, in his heart, in his soul, the backdrop of every emotion that flowed through Dean. Dean hated it. 

He wished he could forget, that he could hate the angel and forget about him. He hesitated to use the words  _ get over _ , but that’s what it felt like. He’d loved Castiel, he could admit that to himself if to no one else. The guy had meant more to him than maybe he should have. Hell, he of anybody should know better than to get that attached to people, Dean berated himself. But Cas hadn’t exactly been a person. Even angels weren’t safe though; there were no guarantees with any species. 

“I’m sorry he’s gone.” Sam’s tone was softer now. “I miss him too.” 

Not like this, Dean wanted to scream, it doesn’t feel like a part of you has been ripped out of your body. Instead of answering, he just stared at his brother, face twisted in pain and anger. Sam bravely forged on. 

“But you can’t go on like this,” he continued. 

“I’m fine,” Dean countered, his voice and gaze heavy. He watched Sam bite back a retort and found it in himself to feel sorry for his brother. He knew he was a bear to deal with right now. Another angel could wipe his memories...not that he exactly had another angel at his disposal, though he could attempt to summon one and try. No. He couldn’t handle the thought of losing his memories of Cas completely, even if they caused him pain. 

“Yeah. Sure,” Sam retorted. Dean heaved a sigh and looked away, to the little window over the cabin’s kitchen sink. They were fortunate to have this old isolated place of Rufus’s to hole up in but the four walls weren’t helping anything. If Dean could get out and kill something, anything, maybe that would help. 

“Look, you know I’m here if you want to talk about it,” Sam told him with resignation. “I’m probably the one who would come the closest to understanding.” And that was the bitch of it: Sammy would get it. Not only had he known Cas almost as well as Dean had, he had also lost people he dearly loved. But they both knew that’s not what Winchesters did. 

“Just leave me alone,” Dean muttered without bite, and stood up to retreat to the basement, where he’d set up his bedroll. It wasn’t that late yet, but he didn’t want to be in a room with his well meaning brother any longer, and while the basement was rather damp and chilly, it gave Dean the option of escape. 

He didn’t bother turning on a light to walk to the corner in which his stuff was set up. The sight of the pile of blankets and his duffel bag of clothes next to it wouldn’t have done anything to boost his mood. Rats, they were living like rats in hiding, Dean thought as he crawled into what had essentially become his nest. It was warm enough with the bedroll and the spare sleeping bag and the two extra blankets, and he’d certainly slept in worse places. 

Just had to ride out this latest storm, get as much intel as they could, figure out how to friggin kill these gooey freaks, and they could go  _ do _ something. That was all. And not go insane in the meantime. Dean’s head burrowed deeper into his pillow as he dug blindly through the blankets until his hand came into contact with rougher fabric. There it was. He had to keep it hidden in case the others came down here. 

He could smell it already as he hadn’t cleaned it of course, but he drew the coat close to him all the same. Dirty river water, blood -  _ his _ blood, and underneath those something that Dean imagined was all Castiel’s scent; something that reminded him of aftershave, the earth before it rained, and silver if it had a smell. He inhaled deeply and clutched the balled up trench coat to his chest. Maybe if he held it tight enough he could keep all the pieces of his heart in place. 

It was pathetic, he knew that even as he found a dubious comfort in cuddling with the angel’s old coat. What was he, some lovesick teenage girl with her ex boyfriend’s tee shirt? At least he hadn’t put it on, he reasoned with himself in the near pitch darkness of the basement. That would feel wrong somehow, as if he was violating Cas in some way. It couldn’t be that weird to keep a memento, the only one he had, of his dear friend and, well, not-exactly-lover.

Dean’s fingertips traced across the stiff fabric as he shut his eyes so tightly he saw stars. This was the most he’d ever touched the coat; the closest he’d ever come, and now ever would, to holding Castiel himself. Dean had many regrets, but this one was up there. Wetness began leaking out of the corners of his eyes at these stale but ever painful thoughts.

It had been a joke to many - the bond that Dean and Castiel had shared. Even Balthazar with that “angel in a dirty trench coat who’s in love with you” crack. They had treated it lightly, and Dean had rolled his eyes every time it was brought up. He was a straight human, and Castiel was an angel in a male vessel that could not be expected to understand concepts like falling in love or the heart’s desire. It was pure madness to think otherwise, and yet…

There were times that Dean could have sworn the look in Cas’s sterling eyes was a little too soft, lingered a little too long, knew a little more than the angel was letting on. And there was a good chance Dean was just imagining things, that he wanted to feel that closeness with somebody, and sure, Cas clearly cared about him to some degree. But would he ever have been able to give Dean what he needed? Did Dean even know what he needed? None of it mattered now because he’d never find out. 

He drew the coat in even tighter to his body, his arms locked around it as if it was the most precious object in the world. As if he only pretended hard enough, Cas was still here with him in some way, or that the coat’s continued existence meant that its owner was somehow still out there, even though Dean knew that was impossible. All he could do was his best to hold his heart together for another night, and wake up the next day, bury the coat and the memories again, and continue hunting the monsters that had taken his angel away. 


End file.
